


Don't Let Him In

by SkylightPirate (New1Romantic)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Vulcan Mind Melds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-07 21:30:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12240972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/New1Romantic/pseuds/SkylightPirate
Summary: When Uhura drags Spock to a club before he's shipped out, he meets one Cadet Kirk. They hit it off immediately - perhaps a little too well.





	1. High On Humans

**Author's Note:**

> This plays rather fast and loose with canon timelines (approximate ages, Vulcan biology and such) so just roll with it, I guess? 
> 
> So far, I have about two chapters written out, but after that I'm not sure. I don't think it's going to be terribly long, maybe about 5 overall.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy :)

“It’ll be fun,” Nyota insisted, leaning across the table and managing to - without even quite touching - be too close for Spock’s comfort. His arm subconsciously shifted from where it was lying on the table to drop onto his lap, widening the gap between them.

He raised a delicate eyebrow, “For you, perhaps,” he answered sceptically.

“No, for you,” She insisted, “At least I hope it will be. You don’t get out enough - do you have any friends other than me? The advanced programming professor doesn’t count, by the way.”

A muscle in Spock’s cheek tensed slightly, a subtle gesture that generally went unnoticed by most, but Nyota’s face twisted into a Cheshire Cat grin at the sight, knowing she’d had an effect on him. “Professor Langton is an exceptional mind in the field of AI, and his insights are absolutely fascinating.” he said, his voice with just a fraction more firmness than usual. “Vulcans require little to no social contact, and we certainly don’t require the kind of socialization that humans place such heavy stock upon.”

“But you’re not just a Vulcan, you’re part human too, somewhere you must crave social interaction.”

This was apparently the wrong thing to say, because the tick in his cheek became significantly more noticeable, and his face became stony, “Are you implying that your company is not sufficient to meet my social needs?”

“No, That’s not…” She sighed, and shifted as she considered how to explain herself, a slightly sad look coming over her face. “Listen, you’re being shipped out again in a couple weeks. And I know, I _know_ that this is the time they send you away for good, the admiralty has been chomping at the bit, trying to get you out onto the top missions. You’re going to be sent out to the farthest flung corners of the galaxy on the fleet’s shiniest ships, and I probably won’t get to see you again. Well, not until your award ceremony for outstanding long service in fifty years or so, probably.”

“That is illogical. For one, even exploratory missions generally have a two year tour limit, meaning that I will inevitably be back on earth sooner than fifty years from now. Secondly, you are a highly accomplished communications student - the top in your class. It is likely that when you graduate, you will be headhunted for similar far flung missions on ‘shiny ships’.”

“Even if that is true, that’s not for another few years, Spock.” She told him seriously, “And even _if_ I do get put on a fancy ship on its way to the farthest flung corner of the galaxy, what’s the chance I get put on the same one as you? I just want to do something to celebrate before you leave.”

“Could we not celebrate… somewhere quieter, perhaps?” He asked, very barely slightly less stiffly than before, apparently moderately placated by Nyota’s change of tact.

“It’s a party, everyone will be there, celebrating - where better?”

He raised an eyebrow, “Somewhere quieter, as I just suggested.” He replied flatly. There was absolutely nothing about parties that appealed to him, and many things that repulsed, even terrified him. Just the thought of the huddling mass of bodies, bumping into him, _touching_ him, the noise, the smell, the _stickiness_ , it was enough to make him want to shudder in horror. “You are aware ethanol does not affect my cognitive functions?”

Nyota sighed, “You don't have to be drunk to party and have fun, you know.”

“I had assumed that by our conversation it would be apparent that no, I do not know, as I have no experience with parties, inebriated or otherwise.”

Nyota ignored the remark, and gave him her best puppy dog eyes, “One hour, please? Just come with me for one hour, and then you can tell me all about how you hated it and how you think humans are weird for enjoying parties. One hour? For me?”

He slackened, his resolve waning. He’d never really been able to deny Nyota anything that she wanted. Something about her eagerness and honesty shot right through to the sentimental human part of him. It was an expression that reminded him of his mother, and he was powerless against it. “One hour.” He finally relented. “Not one minute more.”

Nyota’s face split into a wide smile, “Yes! You won't regret this!” Nyota gave him that look that he associated with her hugging him, and though she had broken that habit, the expectation still had him pressing backwards into his seat anyway.

“That is conjecture; a flawed assumption at best.” He said; a stone sinking into the pit of his stomach. But he knew he was stuck to his word, the excitement and unguarded joy radiating from Nyota told him that.

Nyota clapped her hands together. “Oh my god, I’m definitely going to have to pick out some clothes for you - your normal wardrobe is so drab. You dress like you might need to suddenly attend a funeral!” Her eyes glinted in excitement, finally having the excuse to dress her friend up, as she had tried to do several times in the past. “I’ve always thought you’d look good in blue, you know, you have a very blue sort of palette!” Spock felt a sinking feeling in his stomach; he was doomed.   


* * *

 

 

Spock felt cold, horrendously exposed and cold. For some reason, Nyota had deemed that his regulation approved blacks hadn’t been appropriate for going out, and instead, she had forced him a pale blue t-shirt with an unacceptably deep v-neck and tight jeans. He wasn’t used to having so much bare skin showing - usually he kept his arms covered, they were too easy to brush against, for someone to knock into him and initiate skin to skin contact. The shirt itself was also uncomfortably thin, thin enough that he wasn’t convinced it would protect him from contact either. He had to fight to keep his body language open and not wrap his hands around his arms.

The only benefit of the trousers was that the dark denim was thick, and actually covered him. Otherwise, they were just as exposing - ridiculously tight and low-rise, so that whenever he raised his shoulders even slightly, a band of midriff would show. It was inappropriate, and it meant he found his hands drifted down to his hips every few seconds to try and tug his shirt down, or pull his jeans up slightly.

The club was a large brick building, and he had his suspicions that it was an old re-purposed warehouse - unlikely, in his opinion, to be up to health and fire safety codes, and 67% likely to be overfilled with people to the point where any safety protocols would be unusable, and was 100% certain to be filled to the point of causing him distress.

“Galia and Janice are already inside.” Nyota said, “Apparently the party is in full swing.”

He raised an eyebrow, “The building is firmly built into its foundations, and even if it were not, I see no rig appropriate for suspending it.” 

“It’s just an expression, Spock. For someone who’s supposedly a genius, you don’t ever get any better with human sayings.” She gave a somewhat withering look, but it was a look that Spock recognised as friendly exasperation, rather than anger.

“Idioms are illogical - Vulcan language is highly literal.” He said flatly.

“Yes, I know. I do have a languages major.” Nyota replied dryly.

“My apologies, I did not intend to imply anything about your skills as a translator.”

Nyota gave a bright laugh, “Let’s just go in.”

“Indeed.” The sooner they were in, the sooner he could leave.

They handed their IDs to the bouncer at the doorway, and for a moment, Spock hoped that something would happen, that the man would shake his head and tell them to leave. But after barely a quick glance, he nodded and handed them back, and they were free to enter.

The air outside had been cool, too cold for him to feel pleasant, but inside it was hot. Not a dry, desert-hot like Vulcan, but in a wet way, a way that was built by bodies, dancing and moving in a throng together. The smell, which was only heightened by the humidity was intense, it was primarily sweat - the strong tang of fresh sweat, over perfumes and colognes and just the barest acrid scent of vomit that mixed into something that made him feel sick.

The music was loud, much too loud for his sensitive ears, and the bass physically reverberated through his chest. He looked at Nyota, who said something he couldn’t hear and beckoned him into the throng. Abandoning his attempts to maintain good body language, he pulled his arms in against his chest and took a breath, following her in. He had been in the club for approximately 17 seconds, which meant there was only had 59 minutes and 43 seconds to go.

Thankfully, Nyota skirted around the main crowd, looking around for her friends. Spock looked around, drawing his shoulders in tightly as an Andorran male moved out of the crowd of people dancing and moved past him to the bar. He could not do this. He scanned the area, and found that above them in the space there was a balcony area, much quieter, with a smattering of tables along it. He steeled himself to tap Nyota’s shoulder, and pointed towards it. Nyota, to his relief, gave a thumbs up and they headed towards the stairs.

The floor was sticky with sugary drinks that had been spilled and subsequently dried without being adequately cleaned, and the tables were wet, plastic cups, some still partially full, haphazardly abandoned on them. It was quieter here, though not entirely empty, and the smell and sound had not abated, but at least he could avoid most of the people, and the brunt of the noise. He selected a round booth directly opposite the upstairs bar, as it appeared the cleanest, and slipped in, briefly allowing his eyes to close so he could steel himself. 57 minutes and 30 seconds.

“Do you want a drink?” Nyota half-yelled, half-mouthed to him, mimicking the act of drinking.

“Water.” He replied. Nyota rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue, leaving him on his own.

When she returned, she did so with both Galia and Janice, along with three other people that he recognised partially, and didn’t know well enough to remember by name. The booth that was supposed to be his haven for the evening, but it was packed with people now, drinking, laughing, brushing up against him accidentally. He pulled back into the chair, as if somehow he could be absorbed into it, his water abandoned on the table so that he could pin his arms to his sides, as close to his back as possible.

Galia, who was sitting to his left, attempted to make conversation, as well as one could behind the thump of music through the speakers. He responded, though only politely, in short replies that could ideally be conveyed in simple sign language. He made no effort to carry the conversation on, and eventually, Galia stopped trying. Spock couldn’t say he thought it was a shame.

After twenty minutes had gone by, Nyota turned to him from his right again, “Drink?” She said again into Spock’s ear, barely keeping herself within an acceptable distance. Spock restrained himself from cringing; Vulcans did not cringe, and Nyota would likely consider it insulting. He shook his head, and saw Nyota give a laboured sigh. “One,” She held up one finger, and then clasped her hands and mouthed “Please,”

He raised an eyebrow, “It won’t affect me.” He reminded her flatly.

“Then what’s the harm?” Was Nyota’s reply.

He sighed and closed her eyes for a second. The focus he was having to exert to stay calm here was giving him a headache. “One.” He agreed, firmly raising one finger as Nyota had done. After all, what harm would it cause? Though alcohol didn’t affect him as it did humans, he had tasted it before, and was not averse to the taste of it, and the sweetness of the drinks it was typically mixed with it was not wholly unpleasant.

Nyota gave him that wide smile again and repeated, “You will not regret this.” As if it were the mantra for the evening. Spock idly thought that saying it enough times would not make it come true. She shifted out of the booth, leaving Spock alone amongst her friends. None made any more effort to talk to him, and he didn’t mind it like that. Perhaps, if they had been somewhere quiet, he would have been more amenable to speaking with them, but a proper conversation would only really be possible through a telepathic link, and as all of the species present were psy-null, it was not strictly possible to communicate in such a way.

So he turned his attention to Uhura, teetering on her impressively high heels as she walked to the bar before leaning delicately against it. Another human, a man, caught his attention, he was by the stairs, but appeared to be walking in the direction of Nyota, or at least the bar. He was wearing a gold and green vest, and tight leather trousers - somehow managing to be tighter than the jeans Nyota had forced him into. It was only natural, he rationalised, for his eyes to be drawn by the movement and reflection of light that bounced off the gold thread in the shirt. He cocked his head, looking the man up and down, taking in his appearance.

He was moderately tall, for a human male, though shorter than Spock, and he had a stocky build, with muscles easily visible under his clothes. As he leaned forward towards the bar, the leather over his rear stretched, accentuating the curve, and bringing a blush to Spock’s cheeks. His eyes shifted away, feeling lecherous, but he couldn’t help but continue to observation of the man (though he staunchly kept his eyes above his waistline this time), his face was turned away, but he had short, soft blond hair that stood out, almost glowed when the light hit it, cropped close to his head.

He watched as the man turned his attention to Nyota, and leaned in to speak to her. Nyota gave a smirk, a look that Spock was familiar with, tilting her head up slightly to look at the man. He wondered if this was a person that Nyota knew, as he recognised the look as a friendly one. They spoke, and as they did, the man slowly shifted closer to Nyota, leaning on the bar and reaching out to her, his hand lazily brushing against her arm in that casual way he had observed humans touching each other in the past. Nyota raised an eyebrow in a derisive way, but didn’t appear to want to leave the conversation. The exchange was fascinating to watch - was Nyota not always telling him that he needed to learn more about human interaction?

 

* * *

 

James Kirk made his way up the stairs to the bar - nobody ever thought of using the upstairs bar, so it was always nearly empty, making it so much easier to get a drink, especially when it was packed on days like this. The pretty girl at the bar by herself - well, that was just a bonus, really.

He pulled himself up to his full height, pushing his chest out, and took a moment to preen, running a hand through his hair, before stalking over. He leaned on the bar, as if he was looking over at the drink choices in the fridge behind it, stretching himself out, and watching the girl out of the corner of his eye as she looked him over. She seemed a touch familiar, though barely glancing at her, he couldn’t be sure.

Slowly, he shifted over, close enough to be heard, and gave his best smirk, baring his canines, “Hi,” He said. “And what’s a pretty girl like you doing alone here?” He was pretty sure he recognised her - Uhura, his brain supplied, the cadet he’d met in Iowa, right before her friends had beaten him up. Still, second time was a charm, right?

She flipped her long hair over her shoulder as she turned to him, an amused smirk on her face. She leaned into his ear, “Who said I was alone?”

He took advantage of the sudden closeness, leaning himself closer and brushing his fingers over the top of her arm. She didn’t flinch or recoil away from the touch, which was always a good sign, “Whoever he is, he’s not good enough for you.” He replied, boldly, as if he hadn’t been beaten up for this approach barely a few months ago.

She gave him a look, an eyebrow raising slightly, “And you are?” She said derisively.

“How will you know if don’t try? Nice to see you again, by the way. Maybe we can get that drink this time.”

She raised an eyebrow, obviously somewhat surprised that he remembered her at all, the smirked. “That depends, can you even remember my name?”

He put his hand on his chest in mock offence. “You think I don’t know your name? You wound me.” He sighed, “Do you even remember mine?”

“Of course I do, _Kirk_ , I’m not like you.”

“And what do you think I am?”

“The kind of person who tries to pick up girls in bars and forgets their names?”

He huffed, “You have painted a very harsh picture of me - this is defamation, you know.”

She gave him a very disdainful look, but he didn’t sense any actual frustration in her body language, “Your behaviour hasn’t shown me differently yet.”

“You know, it might have helped me remember if you’d actually told me your name. Your _full_ name.”

She patted him on the arm and withdrew, “If you prove you remember my last name, I’ll consider it.” She picked two drinks up off the bar and walked away.

He laughed, “Ok, I’ll see you in a minute, Uhura!”

She glanced back at him, rolling her eyes.

He watched with amusement as Uhura left towards a table towards the back of the room, where a large group sat chatting. His eyes moved past her to survey the table, and he found himself gazing into a pair of dark eyes, staring out from the low light at him, with an intensity that made a rush run down his spine.

He turned to the bar, ordering a drink and a shot which he downed with a shudder before turning back. Those eyes were still looking at him, and there was something about them that drew him in. Taking a step towards the table, he took a closer look at the man attached to those eyes; he had black hair cut sharply around his face, with two pointed ears poking out the sides - probably not human. They were both looking at each other now, eyes locked, and somehow despite the fact that they both saw each other staring, neither looked away.

It was only after Uhura returned to the table and pushed a drink into his hands, that the guy looked away, giving Jim the time to realise that he was blushing, and his heart was beating faster than he expected. The guy was cute, sure, he wasn’t going to deny that, but it was the way he had looked at him that really drew his attention. Tightening his grip on his plastic cup, he steeled his confidence and walked over.

He turned to Uhura, grinning like the cheshire cat, “Don’t you want to introduce me to your friends?”

 

* * *

 

Attempting to ignore the flush that lit up his cheeks, Spock turned his focus onto the drink. It appeared thick and creamy, more similar to a milkshake than the simple mixed drinks and fermented grains that the rest of the group were drinking. He forced himself to focus his attention on it fully, ashamed that he’d allowed himself to stare at the blonde human for so long.

“One drink.” Nyota said, “As promised.”

He sipped it. There was an underlying taste of alcohol which wasn’t unpleasant, overall it was milky and sugary, with another, rich and sweet flavour mixed in that he couldn’t quite identify, but found that he liked. It send an odd warmth down his throat to his stomach, a sensations he was not familiar with but found oddly pleasant. He accepted that while this was not his preferred type of beverage, it was certainly palatable enough to drink, and he took another sip without complaint.

While he had been distracted, the human had made his way over to the table, and was standing beside Nyota again, giving a wide smile. It was different to Nyota’s smile, he noted. Hers was wide and unguarded, his seemed to have a sharp edge to it, and the sight of it made his heart beat faster. He was not certain why it caused such a significant systemic response, the sight of pink lips shaped around white teeth, with canines that were just pointed enough to give his face a predatory edge, yet his adrenaline levels had spiked, and his heart was beating fast, out of his conscious control.

He could only recall a similar uncontrolled physical response occurring three times in his life.

The first, most intense occurrence, when he underwent the plak’tow-storaya; the blood call. He had deteriorated quite suddenly into a mess of instincts and uncontrolled physical reactions - his attentions particularly focused on the young men in his classes - until he had been removed entirely and left in solitude for three days until it passed. However, the blood awakening was a known singular phenomenon, the adolescent precursor to the blood fever that indicated the start of puberty, and he was not yet at the time where he would enter Pon Farr, so while it was analogous, he could not easily equate it to his current situation.

Once had been when he had first joined starfleet, when he’d had his academy entry physical. The nurse had been a young blond man, who had told him with a friendly smile to strip down to his underwear, and his blood pressure increased significantly, his respiration rate at a level much higher than the baseline, but he decided to attribute this to an illogical bout of nerves at having his hybrid body scrutinised by a medical professional.

He was certainly not nervous now, and though he was on show, in a sense, he was not in the middle of a physical exam, and there were no medical implications to the scrutiny the human was giving him.

The third had been in a San Francisco coffee shop, while the barista had handed him a tea, their fingers had brushed in a way that was most unseemly for a Vulcan, and he had found his heart racing and vasodilation in the skin on his face. He had been unable to identify the cause for such a reaction at that time either, so the data was ultimately useless to him.

Nyota was speaking, going around the table and naming people. HIs ears pricked as he heard his name, his eyes darting automatically back towards Nyota then firmly glued themselves back on the man, who was now watching Spock in return. Suddenly, the man jumped forward, leaning in over the table to speak to him, practically climbing bodily onto it “You don't see many Vulcans in places like these.”

Poised in this position, Spock found that the man’s muscular structure was particularly accentuated, and he had a very idea view of the poise of his shoulders. Nyota had always spoken of an attraction to men with well defined muscle tone, particularly in the back and shoulder region. Spock had never particularly understood, this - the physical bulk of a muscle held very little bearing on the ability of the muscle to perform its function - however, as his pectorals flexed slightly to keep him upright leaning over the table, accentuating the hollow of his collarbone, he found it hard to look away.

“I would not be here myself if I had not given my word.” He replied truthfully. His voice was calmer and more collected than he felt - he had expected it to waver or crack, the way his heart was racing.

“Admirable, keeping your word like that. I like a guy you can depend on.” He winked, and Spock felt a reaction in his chest that could only be described as his heart ‘skipping a beat’. Suddenly, it was all too intense, and he was unable to keep looking at the man any more, instead focusing on his drink momentarily. He found the strange sweet taste slightly calming.

“Name’s James Kirk, pleased to meet you.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Cadet Kirk.”

“Jim, call me Jim.”

He nodded. Jim was only one step away from climbing onto the table now, one knee placed on the edge of the table as it was, his face was close to Spock’s, their mouths barely inches apart. He couldn’t help but recall the fact that humans placed sexual connotations on mouths. In moments of unrestrained joy, he had seen his mother place her mouth onto his father’s face, and later when asked, she had explained that humans considered kissing a pleasurable act. Could she have told the truth? He wondered if placing his lips upon Jim’s would be pleasurable, as his mother claimed it could be. Logically, the thought of lips brought thoughts of Jim’s hands, which he had not seen quite as close yet - not in the way he had been able to memorise every inch of his face. Those thoughts of what his hands looked like lead to thoughts of how they might feel against his own.

This thought was a source of great embarrassment - to imagine touching another’s hands in such a manner, it was practically lecherous. He could not find calm, could not control his emotions, and he considered himself to be a failure of a Vulcan in that moment. Everything about this place was too highly sensory, designed perfectly, it seemed, to stop him from realigning himself and finding peace. Every time he reached for it, it would dissipate through his fingertips, between the beats of the music. The only thing that kept him remotely calm was the drink in his hands, so he kept drinking as if it were a lifeline.

Nyota grabbed Jim by the back of his shirt, roughly yanking him off of the table. “Did your mother never tell you not to climb on the furniture?” She snapped.

“Well… she tried, I didn't listen very well.” Jim gave Nyota a lopsided grin, making a showing of smoothing the creases of his clothes out where Nyota had grabbed him. Spock couldn't look away from his hands, running over his hips, catching the hem of his shirt and flashing the sharp point of his hip bone. Spock’s breath hitched at the sight. “ Ok, I’ll do it your way,” He climbed into the booth across the occupants and - thankfully - stopped before he was in Spock’s lap. However, that didn’t stop him from shimmying in close to him so that their hips were pressed together, and their legs would be too, if Spock hadn’t pulled his legs in as tightly as he could, away from the contact. His drink was almost gone now. And while it momentarily eased the stress of the situation, he found that it also heightened his awareness of Jim even more, especially now they were side by side.

“So,” Jim leaned into his ear, and his breath hot against the sensitive tip, “What do you study?”

“I...” He hesitated, “I graduated in Science, biology track.” he replied stiffly.

“Oh, right, sorry, shouldn’t have assumed! So, are you like a doctor? My housemate’s a doctor.”

“No.” He replied flatly, “Medicine is a different track to scientific entirely. I study exploratory elements. Terraforming, etcetera.” he swallowed awkwardly, his voice sticking in his throat. He was certain that there was a whole host of things he could speak about in terms of what his course entailed, however, he couldn't seem to think of how to articulate them with such body heat so close to him. Humans, he knew, had a lower body temperature than Vulcans, so it was illogical that the man beside him would feel warm - unless they had a fever, humans usually felt slightly cold to the touch. But somehow, their proximity was still burning his flesh.

Realising that he hadn’t spoken for some time as he attempted to overcome the sensation of heat, he struggled for words to continue the conversation “And yourself?” He managed to say after some effort.

Jim grinned, leaning back and propping on one elbow on the seat rest to turn to Spock and face him head on, “Command Track. Combat tactics, ambassadorial duties, diplomacy, that sort of thing.”

“You wish to be a captain.”

“Doesn't everyone want to be the boss?”

Spock considered this for a moment, “A fair assumption. However, it's likely that many people do not want - nor have the capability - to be a leader.”

Jim let out a small laugh. “True.” He agreed, “What about you?” Do you like to be on top?” He gave Spock a look, the way his smile sloped to one side, the tongue caught just between his teeth, it was a look he recognised as implying there was a second meaning to the words he had said, a double entendre, something Spock didn’t understand. He understood that humans used the phrase ‘on top’ not only to relay physically being on top of an object, but to mean metaphorically occupying a senior rank in an organisation - he assumed this was what Jim was referencing at face value, but he could not fathom the what the second meaning that he was implying could be.

He sat there, tensely silent, attempting to break through the discomfort he felt by filling the space with drinking. At least it looked like he was doing something, not simply puzzling out what was, to most humans, a simple phrase. It was getting to the point where he had been silent for too long, and the tension was rising. He chose the easiest solution, answer the question literally, ignoring the double meaning. “I suppose in the right situation. I do not consider very well suited for military command, but I know I possess the intelligence and skills to be well suited to leading exploratory and scientific missions.” He glanced over, watching with apprehension as he finished speaking, waiting for the tell-tale gales of laughter, the mocking grins, the ‘stupid Vulcan doesn’t understand what he just said’ that didn’t need to be said out loud but was easily readable all the same. Even for a stupid Vulcan.

But he didn’t. The expression on his face stayed light and friendly, not mocking, and he let out a good natured chuckle, but there was none of the expected nastiness on his face, the barely contained snickering, “I suppose that’s fair! I don’t think I’d be very well suited to leading scientific missions. Never was amazing in my science classes. Good enough to pass, but I mostly because I did computer science classes.” He waggled his fingers in a movement to mimic typing on a keyboard. He had always found it strange how humans liked using their hands to add to their comments.

“Computer science skills are highly valued.” He replied, “Particularly for a captain.”

He grinned, “You really think I can make it to captain? Shucks,” He grazed his fist against Spock’s shoulder, causing him to flinch in surprise, though thankfully his fingers only brushed against fabric. He felt an odd jolt, as if his telepathic skills had leapt through the thin fabric to attempt to reach the hand above it. “Oh hey, your drink is empty, do you want another one?”

His arm still burned from the contact, and he was struggling to keep the blush from creeping up his neck. Somehow, his thoughts weren't processing, and he couldn't come up with a response of any kind. Eventually, he managed a stiff nod, and Jim beamed at him. The sight made his head go light for a moment with the radiance of it, his white teeth glinting in the dark. Jim shifted out of the booth and back towards the bar, and this time, Spock was shameless in watching his hips sway slightly as he moved, admiring the way it accentuated the curve of his rear -

No, this was inappropriate and rude, both to Jim, and to Surak. He had all but abandoned the very quarter stone of his culture because of a blond human with tight trousers, what kind of Vulcan was he?

How long did he have left until he could leave? How long had he been here? In a few short moments, he had all but lost his impeccable sense of time. He recalled that it had been 32.7 minutes remaining when Nyota had gone to the bar, but since then, he found he was unable to fathom how long it had been. Two minutes? Twenty? He found himself in a mental haze that was not, all told, unpleasant. He was cognisant of the fact that it was illogical to enjoy mental impairment, particularly when the source of it was unknown, but logic didn’t seem to matter for the time being. Not when Jim was making his head spin with a simple smile.

Drinking was starting come more naturally to him, in the way that everyone else was easily drinking alcohol here. The more he drank, the more pleasant the sweet, creamy drink became, and the more the unpleasantness of the situation seemed to melt away. It didn’t matter that he was emotionally compromised by a human male. Even the sounds and smells of the club were becoming more tolerable, and the crowds seemed less troublesome than when he had arrived.

After a while, sitting and talking with Jim as pleasantly as possible while fighting with the sound of the music, Nyota waved to get his attention, “We’re going to go dance,” she pointed downstairs to the main dancefloor. He nodded, and the booth emptied, leaving them alone.

“Dancing?” Jim’s eyes lit up, “We should go dance!” He put his hand on Spock’s shoulder again, urging him up, “I wanna see what you can do!” He found himself being dragged onto his feet, his body giving less resistance to being moved than he had expected. His body, apparently, had become just as relaxed and pliant as his mind.

“Jim!” He pulled away from the electric touch, a blush creeping up his ears,  “I have never danced before.”

“What?” Jim looked aghast.

“Dancing is illogical.”

“It doesn’t have to be logical,” He chuckled brightly, “It’s fun!” His voice was confident, assuring.

“I don’t know how,” The words tasted bad in his mouth, and he couldn’t help but cringe, he hating to admit that he didn’t know something.

But instead of laugh or gloat, Jim leaned in, a sparkle in his eye, “Well, what better time to learn?”

Which is how he found himself on the dancefloor, in a relatively quiet and sparsely populated corner that was nonetheless still far outside his comfort zone, the music blasting so loud that the upstairs corner had seemed positively silent in comparison. He stood there, arms tight to his sides uncomfortably, unsure of what to do and self conscious of his body. Jim had to lean in very close to be heard, and the height difference between them was just enough that in order to reach properly he had to stand on tiptoe, placing his hand on Spock’s shoulder to balance, “Move to the beat!” He instructed shouting just loud enough to be heard, body so very close to his, breath hot on his ear.

He tried his best. As Jim moved a fraction of a step away to allow him enough room to dance he attempted something akin to a shuffle, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he stepped side to side to the beat. He still felt self-conscious and utterly ridiculous, but the excited look on Jim’s face, and the two thumbs up he put up to indicate that he was doing well spurred him on.

Jim leaned up again to his ear, “You don't have to be so stiff!” He assured. He wasn't sure how - stiff described the entirety of his posture and body movements even when he wasn’t trying to dance. “I’ll show you!” Suddenly, his hands were on Spock’s hips, and their bodies were flush, and Spock didn't have any thoughts of self consciousness any more, his heart beating hard and his skin blooming green in a blush. Jim used his grip to guide his hips, moving them in a shimmying sort of way, showing him how to mimic his movement.

He had a thought, vaguely, in the back of his mind, that he wouldn't usually allow this, that touches, even over clothes, were best avoided. But the thought was swallowed up by the knowledge that this beautiful, radiant human was touching him, was practically embracing him, and the intensity of Jim’s body against his own was making his heart beat hard again. The entire time they danced Jim’s hands stayed on his hips, even after he started to be able to mimic his movements and didn't need guiding. At some point, his hands ended up on Jim’s shoulders, though there was no obvious need for it. It could be, he rationalised long after he was already clinging to the human, that he required extra aid in balancing, due to his inexperience with the movements he was making.

After some time, perhaps five songs, he wasn't sure, Jim pulled away slightly. His front was left cold, the heat that was building under his skin immediately dissipated, and his hands twitched in response, gripping onto JIm’s shoulders tightly and barely resisting the urge to pull him back in again. Then Jim leaned up to speak into his ear again, the feeling of his breath and lips on his skin sending a pleasant sensation down his spine. “Another drink?” He asked breathlessly.

Spock nodded,and kept his hand on Jim’s shoulder as they moved through the crowd. He was well aware that he didn't have to, he had followed Nyota well enough earlier in the night, and Jim wasn't even moving very fast, carefully keeping close to him, but he wanted to remain in contact. After taking his drink, Spock began to move back towards the dance floor, assuming Jim wanted to dance, but Jim tapped his back slightly to grab his attention and shook his head, motioning for Spock to follow him.

He quirked an eyebrow but nodded, following the human, the hand which was not holding his drink returning to rest loosely on Jim’s shoulder. Jim lead him away from the dancefloor and to a fire escape door which had been propped open. Somewhere in the back of his mind he noted that this was a fire hazard and someone should be informed, but the thought slipped by quickly, his attention focused on the smile Jim gave him as he glanced back.

All of a sudden, they were outside, and he breathed deeply in the fresh, cool air. Usually he despised cold, but the humid, close heat of the club meant it was a pleasant change, and he let out a small sigh in relief. They were in a small area behind the club, little more than a back-alley, really, with a gate and a few car parking spaces that were marked ‘deliveries only.” The area was quite empty, apart from a small group of people smoking together in the opposite corner. He hated the smell of smoke, but since it was a welcome change from sweat and vomit, he chose not to complain.

Jim let out an audible groan, jumping up to perch on a relatively low wall and stretching his legs out. “Much better! Might be able to hear you now.” Spock suddenly noticed the ringing in his ears from the absence of the noise of the club, muting Jim’s voice. He motioned to Spock, “Come sit with me,” he patted the area of wall beside himself.

It seemed foolish to sit on a wall like that - after all, walls were designed as partitions, not as seats. If it was a seat, Jim wouldn't have had to jump to reach it, after all. But then, it was also illogical to stand when his feet ached from dancing, and sitting on the floor was even more illogical than sitting on the wall - plus, he wouldn't be able to sit with Jim if he was on the floor and Jim was up there. Eventually, he deemed it most logical in this particular situation, and he nodded, lifting himself up easily onto the wall.

Jim swung his legs idly as he sipped from his drink, “You’re a lot of fun, you know, Spock.” He grinned, running a hand through his hair, “No offence, but I'd never have expected a Vulcan to be so cool.”

“Vulcans have a higher body temperature than humans,” he replied immediately.

Jim leaned his head back and laughed brightly, turning to pat Spock low on his back. “No, not that kind of cool, the like, metaphorical kind. Like um… fun! I mean I didn't expect a Vulcan to be fun.”

Spock blinked slowly, tilting his head, “Well, Vulcans aren't that either.”

Jim laughed again, a little more gently this time, “Well, I think you are.” he looked up at Spock, blue eyes sparkling mischievously. Somehow, he had neglected to move his hand from the small of his back, and Spock found the pressure of the heel of Jim’s hands, gently pressing into in the base of his spine pleasant, comforting, and somehow thrilling too.

“I'm not supposed to be,” he answered, giving a small, slightly bitter smile.

“Whether you’re supposed to be or not, I'm glad you are. I'm having a good time with you.” His fingers were moving slightly, rubbing against the ridge of his spine, and the gentle pressure sent pleasant sensations into his skin.

“I am glad.” He replied truthfully, and his smile softened.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look good when you smile?” Jim asked.

Yes, his mother, when he was quite young. Somehow this seemed an inappropriate response, though it was the truth. “I do not do it often,”

“You should,” Jim replied, then added. “I feel graced to receive something so rare.” He stretched, arching his neck up to look towards the sky. “It’s really clear tonight.” He said idly, “I like it when it’s like this, reminds me what I’m working towards.”

Social cues suggested to Spock that he should look up too, but he found himself distracted by the musculature of Jim’s neck, the delicate arch and expanse of pale skin. “Is that why you came to Starfleet?” he asked, still unable to keep his eyes off of Jim’s neck. He wasn’t being particularly subtle, so he wasn’t sure if Jim simply had not noticed he was staring or if he was politely ignoring it - he didn’t care as long as he could watch the way the muscles in his throat moved as he spoke.

“Sort of. I’m just… I just got so tired of Iowa, you know?” he didn’t know, but recognised that it was a rhetorical question and now was not the time to interject, “Tired of being a delinquent kid, wasting his potential. It’s a lot more complicated than that, I suppose, but that’s what it boils down to. There’s an entire galaxy out there - an entire universe! Why would I want to live my entire life in some dirthole town on Earth when I could be out there, pushing boundaries and making contact with other civilisations, other races.” he looked down, over at Spock again, and Spock’s eyes quickly darted away from his neck, “What about you. Why did you join Starfleet instead of… whatever Vulcans usually do?”

“Vulcan Science Academy is the most highly venerated institution in Vulcan. It is most likely to be what you refer to as ‘whatever Vulcans usually do’.” He explained.

“Yeah, that. So… Why didn’t you go to the Vulcan Science Academy then?”

He hesitated for a moment before giving his answer, “Other Vulcans have always considered me at a disadvantage.” He said.

“What? Why?”

“My mother is human.” He said honestly. He didn’t see any reason to lie, when Jim had been truthful to him and hadn’t judged him at all this evening. “I am not a true Vulcan in their eyes.”

“That’s ridiculous!” He huffed, angry on his behalf, “You’re so much better than them.” He had such fire in his eyes, such passion and righteous anger that he couldn’t bring himself to argue, to voice the doubt that remained with him at all times.

While it was logical to say that Jim did not know him outside their short interaction, and didn’t have a baseline on what makes a good Vulcan, he found he couldn’t say it, he found that he actually believed Jim. Any argument died in his throat, “Thank you, Jim.” Was all he managed to say. “For what it’s worth, you don’t appear to be a delinquent to me.”

Jim’s eyes crinkled in mirth, “That means a lot to me.” He replied truthfully. “Really, it does. I still act out a lot and sometimes I often think I’m some piece of shit kid, pretending he’s cool and gonna be a captain… nobody’s ever believed in me, I don’t believe in myself a lot.”

“I know how that feels.” Spock replied.

Jim let out a small laugh, but it wasn’t as bright as the others, hollow, and evoked a great sadness in him. “Wow…well, we got a bit deep there. This isn’t how a night out usually happens on earth, I promise. Much less talk about insecurities.” It seemed like a movement to deflect the conversation from its current path, but he didn’t bring it up - in truth, he didn’t want to talk about such shameful things either.

They watched as a man and woman suddenly stumbled out of the fire door that lead to the club, their hands all over each other. They were attached at the mouth, their movements aggressive, and seemingly battling with their tongues, hands pulling at each other. They barely broke apart from one another long enough to look where they were going, and at one point Spock was sure the man’s hand was not just holding her rear but underneath her skirt. They scrambled messily down the alley, forcing the small group of people smoking to scatter lest they be knocked over, and eventually, giggled and kissed their way down a small, dark side alley. Spock looked at them with disgust obvious on his face.

Jim grinned at him, amused, “Not a fan of PDA, huh?”

“Vulcans do not participate in such acts.” He replied, wrinkling his nose slightly in distaste.

“Oh yeah? Do Vulcans not kiss or anything?”

“Vulcan culture has something akin to what humans call kissing, though it is performed differently and it is not done in polite company.” He replied.

“Oh yeah?” Jim tilted his head, “How?”

“First off, Vulcans use their hands, rather than transferring saliva and consequently bacteria.” Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed Jim by the wrist, pulling his hand out towards him, palm outstretched. Jim made a small noise of surprise and stared at him, face pink. Spock was vaguely aware of the spark that jolted between them, the way Jim’s emotions crackled to life beneath his fingers, but he was too focused on his task to consider it more than briefly.

“The partner who wishes to initiate the kiss holds out their hand like this.” He curled Jim’s hand into a fist, leaving the index and middle finger outstretched, “And if their partner wishes to reciprocate, they do the same.” He let go of Jim’s hand briefly to move his fingers into position, “And place them on the partner’s.” He rested the pads of his fingers against Jim’s and ran his fingers down his fingers and along his palm to his wrist and then back up, before moving his hand away. “Much better than human traditions,” he concluded.

Jim blushed, pulling his hand back. “Woah.” He said, biting his lip slightly “Did you just… kiss me?” He asked.

Spock went bright green, suddenly realising what he had done in his haze of impulsivity. “Oh...I… In a sense… I...  I did. I apologise… it was inappropriate.”

“No… don't be sorry,” Jim said slowly, “I mean… if I minded it I wouldn't have been flirting with you all evening.” He admitted, giving a small, almost shy, smile.

Something seemed to click into place and Spock stared, wide-eyed. “Oh,” He said. All those smiles, those heavy-idded looks and the double meanings that he hadn’t been able to quite understand. The lingering touches, the way he moved in closer than strictly necessary. “ _Oh_.” His brain wouldn't work properly.

“I was just... surprised... because, you know, Vulcans don't like touch, right?. I didn't expect you to just reach out and… and… kiss me like that. Even if it was for a demonstration.”

Wait, so all this time Jim had been attracted to him? Had he been admiring Spock? Staring at him when he wasn’t looking?

Wait. Was _he_ attracted to Jim?

Jim’s mouth twisted awkwardly and he rubbed the scruff at the back of his head nervously, “It was cool, though, I liked it. Can't imagine what it's like as a Vulcan though… all that touch telepath stuff, right? I can see why you don’t like to touch people…” he rambled, his face getting redder by the second, the longer he spoke, and the longer Spock stayed silent, staring.

The way his heart raced, the blushing, the shocks of sensation that sparked along his skin every time they were close - the need to feel his body against his own… was that attraction?

“I mean, I can't even imagine two Vulcans kissing with their mouths, they’re too austere for all of that. So it makes sense that there would be another way of showing affection... But it was cool of you to show me, you know? Now I know something that I didn't before!” Jim let out a nervous laugh, his voice slowly increasing in pitch, his face becoming red.

He was attracted to Jim. He desired Jim. But he had been so strong headed that he hadn't realised what it was that he had been feeling.

“Jim,” he finally spoke, cutting off the nervous ramble with a firm voice.

Jim winced, turning to him, his face bright red with embarrassment now. “Yeah?” There was obvious tension on his face.

He was not sure what he wanted to say, he just knew he wanted to act on his attraction somehow. “I believe that I have shown you the Vulcan method of kissing so that you understand the reasoning behind it. But I profess, I still do not understand the human traditional kiss. Perhaps in the interest of cultural exchange you could… demonstrate?” A green blush bloomed over his cheeks, and he looked away, suddenly feeling stupid, afraid that he was being too forward, or perhaps not forward enough, and that Jim would misunderstand him. He had the vague notion that he would never usually say things like this, but he had contemplated Jim’s mouth all night, and he couldn't bring himself to care for propriety any more.

“Oh.” Jim was suddenly wordless, blinking wide-eyed at Spock. “Oh!” He licked his lips nervously, an action that drew Spock’s attention and just made his vague sense of want more acute. “Well, I suppose, if you wanted to kiss somebody, you would just uh… lean in and…” Spock could feel the movement of his mouth as he spoke, their lips almost touching, “You just… kiss them.”

Their lips touched gently, and Spock made his best effort to mimic Jim’s movements, reciprocating rather than sitting there stony-faced, lips pursed. Jim’s thoughts leapt easily into his body, and his normally proficient mental shields meant nothing, as if they were made of ice and Jim was boiling hot water.

Jim was akin to a fireworks show of feeling and emotion. Spock was not as emotionless as he led everyone to believe, as he tried to be; despite his best efforts; he still had emotions, still felt things, but had repressed it so deeply that he was very rarely able to identify what he felt and act on it appropriately. Jim, on the other hand, was obviously very acutely attuned to his emotional state. His feelings were clear to Spock while his own were inaccessible, and for a moment he revelled in the unrestrained humanness of it. Jim was excited, happy, slightly nervous, but mostly, overwhelmingly, attracted to Spock. He felt the desire rush through their every point of contact, warming his body. It awakened his own desire - that which had been laying unrecognised just under his skin all night reared up to meet Jim head on, spurred on by the undeniable knowledge of mutual attraction.

Physically, he was aware of the pleasant pressure of Jim’s lips against his, the way they leant their weight against each other, how Jim’s arms had come to wrap around his waist. It was overwhelmingly sensory and sensual, and he found that he was at a loss to know how to describe what he felt and what he wanted, he just knew that he needed it.

They broke apart, and the sudden loss of Jim’s mind was stark, leaving his being feeling cold and empty. For the first time in his life, he had the sense that he was missing something, that his mind was lacking in its ability to feel as intensely as Jim could. The night was silent, apart from their gasps, as they leaned into each other, Spock clinging to Jim as if he would fall if he let go.

“Wow,” Jim said softly, letting out a small gasp.

“Fascinating.” Spock replied, “I… would be amenable to further demonstrations.”

Jim laughed softly, and Spock noted that his pupils were dilated, an observation he found pleasing. “I think I'm starting to understand the way you talk. That’s Vulcan for ‘Wow, do that again’ right?”

“I was speaking in English, rather than Vulcan, but yes, that is the message I was trying to convey.” Jim nodded approvingly, leaning in for another kiss, but before he could, Spock raised his hand. “Before we continue, however… it would be remiss of me not to explain about Vulcans…” Jim cocked his head to the side, giving him a questioning look. “Vulcans can communicate telepathically, when I touch someone, I can feel their emotions, I can tell what they’re thinking. Usually… I can block it out. But not right now. I do not intend to breach your privacy, but when we touch, you have no ability to stop me from knowing everything you think and feel.”

“Good.”

He blinked, staring at Jim. Good? “What?” He was lost for words.

“I know you can feel me. I mean… I already knew Vulcans are touch telepaths, it’s covered in Vulcan culture 101, but… when we kissed. Part of me… just knew? I can’t explain it but… I felt it. I couldn’t read your mind or anything, don’t worry, but… I don’t know how to explain it. I knew I was giving you something, and I wanted you to have it. I... wanted you to know me. I want you to know me.”

“You are sure?” He reached a hand up and gently brushed his fingers against Jim’s cheek. Jim smiled and nodded, leaning into the touch slightly, and the warmth of his mind seeped into his fingers and through his nerves, speaking of his honesty. “In that case…” He leaned in and placed a chaste and brief kiss to his lips, sensation sparking between them.

He moved to pull away, but Jim’s hands came to rest on his face, pulling him back into the kiss. He was less gentle and chaste this time, and the desire that he’d felt through the contact became more acute and needy, and there was the ghost of sensation in his stomach, a warming ache that spread through him. Jim’s tongue pressed against his sensitive lips, and her mouth fell open, tasting Jim eagerly.

His entire being seemed to begin and end with Jim in that moment, his senses occupied with him, and his emotions soaking through his mind. The desire and _want_ that was coming off of him in waves now gave him an adequate baseline to understand his own emotions, and his mind and body were reacting in kind.

They broke apart, gasping, though Jim still had both hands on his face, and Spock was still cradling his cheek. Jim grinned against his mouth, resting his forehead against Spock’s.

From the alley, a sudden grunt and a scream of ‘YES!” broke through the quiet, and Spock grimaced again, not bothering to keep his emotions off of his face.

Jim rolled his eyes and laughed, “I think we should get out of here.”

Spock nodded, “Indeed.” He agreed.

Jim jumped down from the wall, stumbling slightly and landing none too gracefully, but ultimately standing straight, no worse for wear. He brushed himself off and smiled, holding his hand out to Spock, “My place isn’t too far from here.”

Spock took his hand. He understood what Jim was asking, what he wanted - he was freely transmitting his thoughts and feelings, and even on another level, he simply knew what was being propositioned, and, allowing himself to be driven by instincts and feelings for the first time in his life, he wanted it too.

Squeezing Jim’s hand slightly, he braced himself, and jumped.


	2. Tesselate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, well, this does not bode well, huh? The silly thing is, I've had this chapter written since before I posted the first one, but I just never finished editing it. At least you can enjoy these two getting down and dirty. I promise it won't be so long before chapter 3 is edited and ready to post. 
> 
> Also, confession time: When I first started writing this thing, I intended to write an f/f Spock/Kirk fic because I'm a hopeless lesbian. But, partway through writing it, I realised I couldn't really justify making them female and re-adapted it for normal K/S. This is why you might see a couple of incorrect pronouns, though I've done so many checks to make sure there are none left.

It transpired that Jim had not exaggerated when he said he did not live far away - the walk was only about 5 minutes (although more closely than that, Spock was unable to tell). They walked pressed up to one another as if they were cold, though Spock experienced none of the chill he had earlier in the night. Jim had hooked his fingers around Spock’s, and his thumb was running over the palm of his hand. 

It was a small gesture that, to most passers-by would appear to be nothing but a simple sign of affection, but to Spock it was an intensely obscene and intimate act, especially in public. Somehow the idea of it, of performing an act so intimate in a public place like this did not embarrass him but rather send a frisson of thrill up his spine. He fed from the feelings of excitement and want that was rolling freely from Jim from the point where their hands touched, fuel to the fire of his own strange desire. 

Somehow, they managed to make light conversation, and Spock’s voice didn't waver, despite the fact that his physical homeostasis was completely imbalanced, his physiological responses almost entirely out of his control. They talked quite pleasantly, about their courses and interests, as if they weren't almost strangers about to have sex. As if Jim hadn't found the spot where Spock’s palm joined his wrist, where his thumb fit perfectly, which made pleasure jolt through him and made his knees suddenly slack in a way that meant he almost tripped. He hadn't realised it was such an erogenous zone - honestly, he he hadn’t known that he even had erogenous zones. Apart from that unfortunate quirk of Vulcan biology, the Pon Farr, which he tried not avoid thinking about as much as possible, he had considered himself entirely above the idea of sex. Sex was an emotional affair, and Vulcans did not deal in emotions. 

Was this what he had been missing out on? The heady buzz of excitement, anticipation creeping through every joint in his body? The heat that was creeping through his abdomen, filling him with a need that he didn’t really understand? He felt it was a great loss that he had not experienced this sensation before now. It was hedonistic and selfish, but he enjoyed the indulgence of his physical needs greatly.

Eventually, finally, they arrived at Jim’s flat, and while academically he was aware that they had walked for all of five minutes, it had seemed to take an eon to arrive, long enough, certainly, for the sensations of want that he experienced had turned into a need, an inescapable black hole of desire, pulling him in so deeply that he couldn’t have escaped any more, even if he wanted to. 

The door had barely closed behind them before Jim had pulled him into a bruising kiss whose intensity went far beyond those they had experienced in the club parking lot. When they broke apart for a second, he whispered, “I had no idea Vulcan hands were so sensitive. It’s so fucking hot seeing you like that.” Before grabbing fistfulls of his shirt to pull him into another kiss.

Spock was vaguely aware that while a private hallway was more appropriate for displays of this kind than the street outside, and appreciated that Jim had restrained himself from the most overtly obvious sexual displays until they arrived, it was still not a very appropriate place for such actions - particularly since Spock assumed that this was a shared living space, as roommates and flatmates were common amongst cadets. 

However, it was difficult to coordinate the mess of limbs towards somewhere more appropriate, more private, and he was unwilling to pull his mouth and body away from the pleasurable contact of Jim. Instead, he performed a quick bit of maths in his head - Jim was somewhat smaller than he was, and though he had a bulkier frame, he was unlikely to weigh any more than Spock did, overall. He was sure he should be able to work out an approximation of Jim’s weight with a relatively low margin for error, but every time he tried to think of numbers, Jim would press his hips against Spock, or catch his lip with his teeth and tease it gently, and all calculations would be robbed from his head. He concluded that his vague guesses were correct enough, in a moment of impulse he grabbed Jim by the waist and lifted him up easily. 

Jim broke away from him for a second, his eyes rolling back in what Spock recognised through their contact as a reaction to a thrill of pleasure, “Oh fuck…” he mumbled, “Third door on the left. Hurry.” His legs wrapped quickly around Spock’s, and he could feel the trembling in his thighs, and the hardness of his erection twitching against his stomach, a physical reaction that he felt proud of having caused. 

His movements were not very graceful as he moved down the corridor to the door that Jim had indicated, focused too heavily on the human in his arms, the the feeling of their lips locked. He found the door and fell against it, pressing Jim hard into it to feel more of the delicious friction of their bodies pressed together. Jim’s hand left his shoulder to fumble at the keypad, down from where it was holding on to his shoulders in order to press the keypad and let them in. The door suddenly sliding away meant that he almost fell through the door, but while he stumbled, he managed to remain on his feet. 

Through the haze of desire, he vaguely recognised that this was a bedroom, and that Terran culture typically considered the bed to be the most appropriate place for sexual contact of this nature. It was more logical to move to the bed than to continue holding Jim for a prolonged period of time - though he greatly enjoyed the sensation of Jim wrapped around him, hips grinding into him. He strode over to the bed, gently letting Jim down and climbing on top of him, not wanting to lose contact for too long. In this position, he could press his hips into Jim’s, grinding against him, finding that friction he needed. 

Jim groaned loudly, “Oh fuck Spock, that was  _ so  _ hot. I had no idea you were so strong.” He thrust up against Spock, his hands coming to his shoulders, nails gripping into the skin in a way that didn't cause pain, but rather heightened the pleasure he felt. 

“Vulcans, on average, have three times the strength of humans,” He replied breathlessly, words broken up by the gasps that were falling from him, unbidden.

Suddenly, a foot hooked around his knee, and the grip on his shoulders tightened as Jim flipped their positions. He found himself on his back, with Jim above him, knees resting each side of his hips. HIs hips jerked slightly, unable to find the same friction that he had before,  though he found that the site of Jim above him, the arch in his back, his mouth open as he panted softly, he could bear the lack of contract. 

“You are  _ so hot _ .” Jim muttered again, and momentarily, Spock assumed he was referring to the physical heat of his body, but one brush of skin against skin and he understood the weight of Jim’s physical attraction to him, and that ‘hot’ was a way to describe the fact that his features were arousing. He grabbed Spock’s hand roughly and pulled it up to his face, running his fingers over every crevice, mapping each line and watching his reactions intensely, gauging the most sensitive spots. His head dipped, and his lips pressed against the tip of Spock’s index finger, eliciting a long groan that he found he was incapable of stopping. Jim’s eyes flashed, and his mouth curled into a wicked grin, slowly opening his mouth and drawing the tip of his finger into the heat of his mouth. Spock’s breath hitched, and he stiffened as pleasure bolted down his arm like electricity. Jim drew his finger deeper into his mouth, and the sensation increased tenfold, the feeling travelling straight to his erection, which twitched helplessly against his jeans.

Jim released his finger with a wet pop, looking at him with darkened eyes, “Fuck, Spock,  _ fuck. _ ” He muttered, voice shaking slightly. The words didn’t appear to have any meaning, but Spock felt a sensation of intense want behind them. “I bet you have  _ no idea _ how  _ good _ you sound when I do that.” He muttered, “It makes me want to… fuck I want to find every way I can do that to you, every way that I can make you moan like that,” he whispered. “You’re just…  _ fucking hell, _ ” His verbal outpourings were just as disconnected as the thoughts he was transferring, broken up by the throb of desire. 

His hands were suddenly underneath Spock’s shirt, running up the flat expanse of his stomach, nails raking across his skin. The muscles in his abdomen tightened in response, and he let out a shuddering breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Jim was looked at him with a dark intensity in his eyes, “Can I…? I want to see you.”

He blinked, tilting his head slightly, “I am within your range of vision?” He was breathless, brainless, and didn’t have the logic to try and understand what Jim was asking.  Jim didn’t physically answer him, but pushed his desires through his hands into Spock, in a way that felt wholly intentional - he was obviously fast on the uptake, and used the connection, however one-sided, to his advantage. Spock knew now, practically saw in his mind’s eye, how Jim wanted to unclothe him, to see him naked and touch his body. He felt the desire that came along with it, and it choked him with it’s intensity.

“Oh.” He said softly, and nodded, “You may. If… If I can do the same?” He felt horrendously nervous and out of his depth, so he latched on to the stream of Jim’s consciousness, brazenly stealing his confidence and knowledge to help him work out what he wanted and what to do. He could tell that Jim was experienced with this, and he held onto that, relied on Jim’s experience to guide him.. 

“Yes, of course, yes.” Jim breathed, panting, “You don't even have to  _ ask _ .” His hands eagerly roamed along Spock’s stomach, rolling his shirt up and over his head. He very rarely undressed in front of others, and he felt oddly exposed and illogically nervous about the idea. He felt a tremble of desire lick up his body, and realised it was from Jim - surely, it was illogical to be self conscious when he could feel Jim’s obsession over his body, the desire that the sight of his flesh incited in him. 

His hands gained purchase on Jim’s hips, fingers tangling in his belt loops to hold him down against him, feeling the pressure of his body. The way Jim felt underneath his hands was pleasant, but it left him wanting more, to dig his fingers into the flesh, to feel his skin beneath his fingers. The desire threatened to overwhelm him, and it was all he could do not to test his strength and attempt to tear the trousers off of him. Even the pull of his desire was enough to feel the seams holding his belt loops on crack slightly, and he had to restrain himself, remind himself that his strength could be misused. Jim’s shirt was riding up, exposing the curve where his hips jutted out, and the soft vee line that lead down, underneath his waistline. The sight made him physically salivate with desire, and he found he wanted to see Jim naked just as much as he felt Jim wanted to see him.

Obligingly, Jim pulled the shirt off over his head, the movement giving a pleasant view of the muscles in his arms and shoulders tensing, his back curving slightly in a most flattering way. He was a very attractive individual, in Spock’s mind. He had a slight softness to him that covered firm muscle in a way that indicated someone who cultivated strength, rather than musculature for vanity’s sake. He had never experienced such a strong desire to touch someone before, to see how someone reacted to his touch - now, he found he needed it. It was, honestly, liberating, to be free to act on his desires and impulses in a way that he had not been able to indulge since he was old enough to control himself.

Suddenly, Jim scrambled away, Spock’s hands disentangling roughly from his hips. The total lost of contact was sudden and upsetting, and Spock nearly growled his frustration at being alone in his own head for the first time since they had first kissed. It didn’t last long, Jim had shifted down, kicking off his own shoes and yanking off Spock’s, then his belt and jeans, taking his underwear along with it. One he had disrobed Spock, he paused, leaning over him, and surveyed him with a look he could only correlate to that he had seen humans use while appraising a piece of old and valuable artwork. It was intense, and he found it difficult not to squirm and attempt to move away. “Has anyone told you that you look  _ fucking _ amazing?” His voice was low and quiet, meant only for Spock.

His cheeks bloomed green at the compliment, and the truthfulness he could feel behind the sentiment.  “Vulcans do not… we do not speak in such terms.” He swallowed, unable to properly explain, to say no, he wasn’t attractive, he was a freak, an ugly half-breed, a gobin. Too tall and skinny, too pointed and sharp looking, too emotionless for humans, too human for Vulcans. He didn’t have the words to speak of his shame.

Jim gave a soft sigh, “That’s too bad. I feel like I should tell you a thousand times over to make up for it.” He leaned down to trace his fingers over his cheekbones. “You are beautiful.” Spock desperately searched for some hint of a lie in his intentions, but found only the deepest sincerity.

He swallowed, “Thank you.” he said, though it didn’t seem enough “I find your appearance aesthetically pleasing as well.” he managed to reply. He wasn't as good with sentiment as Jim obviously was, and hoped that he managed to convey his meaning - Judging by the wry but bright smile he received, thankfully, Jim did understand. 

Jim leaned in gently, kissing Spock delicately on the mouth. Then, slowly, his hands reached out to find Spock’s, curling around them in a gentle Vulcan kiss that meant more to Spock than he could express, and a sense of affection flowed into him from Jim. Despite how frantic their need had been, the moment still managed to be sweet and tender, and he savoured the feeling. As they broke apart, Jim placed soft kisses across the corner of his mouth and down his jawline, untangling his hands from Spock’s to run them across his body. His mouth travelled downwards, across his jaw and onto his throat, his lips resting on his pulse point, feeling the light, fast, flutter of his heart beat. Spock placed his hands shakily on Jim’s back, raking his nails up and down the length of his spine in a way that Jim projected a great deal of enjoyment for.

He felt Jim’s lips part against his skin, and for a second, there was nothing but the flutter of hot breath against his skin, then, slowly, a gentle pressure, as Jim’s teeth teased the skin above his pulse point, pulling it into his mouth. Shocked, a sound escaped his mouth, a small sharp gasp, as a thrill of pleasure ran straight down his spine and into his twitching erection. It was a foreign feeling, but he found it pleasant, almost addicting, and he needed more of it, deeper, more intense. Jim’s tongue was hot and wet against the sensitised skin, pulsing warmly with blood. The pain of the the teeth digging into his flesh was just enough to contrast the pleasure and, as a result, heighten it. He trembled, his body involuntarily arching upwards towards Jim, to feel the contact between them.

Jim released his neck, the skin suddenly cold and tingling as the blood was able to flow normally again, and he panted softly, attempting - and failing - to bring his physiological response back in order. Jim took the moment to look up at him through lidded eyes, a grin on his face as he licked his lips. “Green is your colour,” he said, placing a kiss to the spot that he had bitten. Spock blushed, the green blooming up to the tips of his ears. Jim continued his exploration across his body, peppering kisses across the sharp angle of his collarbone, and across his shoulder, running his tongue into the dip of his clavicle. 

He plucked a nipple between two fingers, his touch delicate as he pinched and pulled it. Spock let out a low groan at the contact - it seemed illogical that something that caused pain, however slight, was causing him pleasure and enhancing it - but his body reacted favourably all the same, causing him to shudder involuntarily. He found the intensity of his need growing, a desire for a release - but how or what, he wasn't quite sure, couldn't put into words what he desired. Jim’s head dipped down, his mouth closing over the other nipple and drawing it into his mouth. The heat went straight through him, his hands clinging onto Jim to hold on, to ground himself. His nails dug into the soft flesh of his back, his body stiffening as he trembled. 

Jim glanced up at him, and his pupils were blown wide with desire, and the look, coupled with the sudden coolness of Jim’s breath on his wet nipple as he released it were overwhelming, and he fell back against the bed, his eyes fluttering closed. Jim gave a small chuckle that was filled with fondness and good intentions, “Your reactions are so amazing. I’ve barely gotten started.” 

Spock found himself unable to speak, so he groaned softly, eyes barely able to focus on Jim. The human gave him a look that sparkled mischievously, lifting himself up from where he was straddling Spock’s hips and moving, shifting downwards and placing himself lower down. Spock grunted slightly, unable to articulate his dislike for the loss of sensation against his phallus. His hips lifted slightly, and Jim gave a mischievous grin, pushing him back down again with two insistent hands against his hips. He allowed himself to become pliant, his body clay to be moulded by Jim’s experience and the confidence of his touch. He felt as if his entire being was underneath Jim’s control, his body aching for his touch, his mind reaching out for the tendrils of Jim’s mind that seeped into his skin, as if he would be able to embed them into his own psyche. 

Usually, Spock avoided strong sensory inputs, avoided anything that might risk causing an emotional response. Physical stimuli for the purpose of pleasure were not logical or necessary, bordering in hedonistic, and as such, he eschewed them. He avoided touch, avoided contact with others, and he had never considered the idea of sexual gratification before. Now he had it, it was overwhelming, a pleasurable sensation that was so intense that it overtook him, and all he could do for the time being was enjoy the ministrations Jim was lavishing upon him. 

Jim dipped his head down again, lavishing kisses along his ribcage, down his sternum, then pausing as his mouth found the area closest to his heart, deep in his abdomen on the right side. He saw Jim’s eyes closed, and felt his heart beat quickly, loud enough to be heard, felt the sensation of his own heartbeat through Jim’s body. One hand came to place on Spock’s hip, idly running his fingers along the dip where his iliac crest jutted out. It was a silent request, a request for more, to look, and to touch.

He felt a sliver of apprehension bolt through him. He had never been in this kind of position before - under the scrutiny of another person, rejection a mere thread that could snap and destroy him at every moment. Vulcan and Human physiology were relatively analogous, however, there were differences, distinct ones that could prove to be too much. Rationally, he knew that this fear was illogical - Jim was already aware that there were differences in their physiology - however, he still could not quite dismiss it. He let out a shuddering gasp, and found he had no words. Instead, he lifted his hips slightly, pushing into Jim’s grasp as a silent agreement.

The pads of his fingers lightly brushed up against the inside of his thigh, into the joint where his femur met his pelvic bone, the skin sensitive and slightly ticklish. He made an effort not to jump at the pressure, or give Jim any indication that he might be nervous, lest he stop. A finger dragged up to the base of his erection, which twitched at the contact, and he suppressed a slight shudder. Jim’s head was bowed, focused intently on tracing a line up his genitals. “Not all that different, really.” He mused quietly, almost to himself more than to Spock.

Spock couldn’t keep the green flush off his face, nor quash the vague embarrassment that went through him. “Humans and Vulcans are relatively comparable.” He said stiffly.

His fingers gently ran up the length of his penis, across the cartilaginous ridges that formed small spines along the front. He gasped at the feeling, his hips twitching upwards into Jim’s fingers. His hand drew away momentarily, admiring the clear fluid that had accrued on his fingers. “It’s sticky,” He observed idly, watching it drip slowly from his fingertips.

“The ridges form a series of glands that produce lubricant.” He managed to say, barely able to form coherent words. 

Jim gave that toothy grin that made Spock’s knees go weak, his fingers coming up to his mouth, tasting the sticky secretions. “It’s not bad.” He mused, sucking his fingers between his lips. Spock groaned, remembering the feeling of his own fingers in Jim’s mouth, and he gripped the bedsheets, shivering with anticipation. 

Jim’s fingers returned to their exploration of his penis, the touch curious more than for the purpose of pleasure. His fingers ran over the glans, smaller than a human’s, almost heart-shaped. He found himself less apprehensive at the touch, the curiosity in Jim’s eyes was compelling, even endearing, and he found that being an object of study was almost, oddly, erotic. 

There was a gentle brush of hair against the edge of his hip, and the soft sensation of breath against his body, shallow and shuddering. His breath was wet, and burning hot against his skin, and the sensation against the glans of his penis was intense. Suddenly, there was a tongue, searingly hot, and he couldn’t help but cry out, his entire body freezing up in response to the pleasure. 

Jim gave a soft, sharp laugh, “Spock,” He said softly, and his words were laced with a desire that was thick and intoxicating like rich perfume. “Oh fuck, Spock…” Jim wanted him, wanted to see him come undone, and Spock found himself obliging, willing to fall apart for him.

His tongue pressed flat against the very tip, insinuating itself into the slit and slowly swirling around the head. His tongue ran around the underside, down to the base where he kissed the point where his testicles bulged out, insinuating his tongue between the folds of mucosa that protected the base of his genitals. He shuddered, letting out a groan. It was good, overwhelmingly good, and there was a pleasurable sensation building up deep in his groin. And yet, he found he needed more, he needed to feel more of that wetness and delicious pressure.

He let out a small groan, barely able to articulate what he wanted. His hand came to Jim’s shoulder, gripping lightly in the hope that he might better feel his thoughts, to find the words to articulate his feelings and desires. “Jim,” He whispered, barely able to whisper. “Please.” His hips tilted upwards, into Jim’s touch.

He felt affection and desire from him. “Hm?” He whispered, his tongue idly running across the edge. “What do you want?” The words had excitement laced underneath them that ran through him like electricity.  

But he didn’t know what he wanted, he had no frame of reference with which to communicate. He found himself lacking in words, and he could do no more than push on Jim’s shoulder, pushing him down towards his penis, thrusting his hips up desperately. “More… Jim please... “ He groaned, “More, please.” It was all he could articulate, all he had the ability to say. 

Jim grinned, and amusement laced the sensation he felt through his body. “Good enough.” He growled, and his lips closed around the head of his penis. Spock stiffened and his eyes rolled back. Lowly, he moaned, shuddering bodily. He couldn’t help the cacophony of noise that came out of his mouth, but he could sense that Jim enjoyed the sounds he was making. White hot pleasure clouded his mind, and for the first time in his memory, he had no ability to think. 

Jim was very talented with his mouth, he felt like a fine instrument being played by the most skilful musician, every inch of him filled with pleasure. Jim was sucking desperately, his head bobbing up and down as he made the most obscene noises. His vision was spotting as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. One hand carded through Jim’s hair, the other gripping onto his shoulder as if he would float away otherwise. The pleasure was threatening to overwhelm him, building deep within the pit of his stomach and straining to release. 

As the pleasure grew, a need surged up within him, a latent, primal urge from the back of his brain. He enjoyed the feeling of Jim’s consciousness leaning against him, seeping against his skin, but it was no longer enough for him. He needed the entirety of him, to pull them together even more completely. The more the pleasure in his stomach knotted and tightened, the urge within him became greater, more intense, and he could feel his consciousness reaching out into his fingertips as if he could reach Jim that way. He needed to feel him, completely.  The hand running through Jim’s hair contacted with his temple, the heel of his palm pressing into his meld points. Quite of its own accord, his consciousness leapt through the tentative link between them, and his mind barrelled, instinctively, into Jim’s. It was not a full link, it was tenuous, and fragile, but it was enough for their senses to come crashing together on a base level. He could feel what Jim felt, was a part of Jim, not quite two people, but not quite one whole. 

Finally, meeting minds as their bodies had already collided, the tension snapped and the pleasure flooded through his body, falling through him in intense waves. He held on to Jim tightly, anchoring himself, and vaguely, he sensed pain in his shoulder, from Jim’s shoulder, where his fingers were digging in. He was somewhat aware of his mouth opening, and that perhaps there was noise coming from his mouth, his hips thrusting desperately upwards into Jim’s mouth. 

As it began to subside, he found himself totally boneless, unable to move. He was desperately sucking at air, attempting to find sanity again. He allowed his hands to drop from Jim’s person, and the thin link between their minds snapped apart, pulling him away from Jim’s mind by force, and Jim released him from his mouth, coming to rest against his thigh weakly. He found himself left oddly cold by the sensation of loss.

There was a long moment where neither of them could speak, sprawled out across Jim’s bed. The sound of their panting filled the silent room, and even though they were touching, it seemed that Jim’s thoughts had temporarily receded even from his touch telepathy - that, or Jim was incapable of thought.

Jim’s voice slowly pierced the silence, “That… was amazing. I just… I felt  _ everything _ . I already knew you could feel  _ me _ when we touched but… but I thought it was just a one-way street. I had no idea that I would be able to… fucking hell, I mean, I actually came, you came and I felt  _ everything _ .” He scrambled up, his eyes alight. He still had his pants on, and there was an obvious wet patch blooming across the fabric. “I mean… oh my god… you didn’t even touch me.” He pressed himself against Spock excitedly.

Spock frowned, the weight of what he had done starting to come to him, “Jim…”

They were face to face now, Jim on top of him, “Do it again.” He said earnestly. He was already hard again, pressing it against him and grinding desperately down into his hips. 

Something primal in Spock leapt up.  _ Yes, please, yes _ , it seemed to say, and his heart beat fast. His hand came up to Jim’s face, carefully brushing his hair from his forehead, before hovering over his meld points, his body taut with anticipation. “Are you sure? It will be… more intense like this.” He had to hold himself back from doing it now, despite the fact that he hadn’t had Jim’s explicit consent.

Jim nodded, leaning into kiss him, “Yes,” He sighed.

Spock’s desire sparked aflame again, and he pulled Jim against him, kissing him desperately. He forced his hands down from Jim’s meld points, and found his hips, gripping into his belt loops. He found his belt, desperately opening it and pulling his fly open. His hand desperately plunged into Jim’s underwear, feeling out the length of his erection. Jim moaned loudly, thrusting against his hand as he desperately attempted to kick his trousers off. They were finally lying together naked, skin against skin, and the length of the contact was intoxicating. 

His other hand came to rest just above Jim’s meld points, hovering desperately. Jim was groaning, thrusting into his hand. “Do it, Spock,” He whispered, almost begging. He leaned in, touching Spock’s fingers with his head.

His psyche reared out, surging into his fingertips and reaching towards Jim. “My mind to your mind.” He gasped, unsure if he could stop now should he want to, and his consciousness leapt into Jim as if coming home. 

Their minds crashed together with a force that was almost physical. Jim’s mind was beautiful and unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. His mind was bright, golden threads of thought that glowed brightly. His thoughts bounced in all direction, splitting off suddenly and spiralling away. He had not experienced many melds in his life, but they had never been like this. Vulcan minds were calm, sensible grids that could be followed logically. Jim’s mind was beautiful chaos, each thought flaring up and dying or trailing away before he could get a proper hold onto them and attempt to follow it. It was fascinating, utterly compelling. 

He was still Spock, still undeniably himself, but he was also Jim, a heady mix of sensation and emotion that was utterly human and intense, crashing over him. He could feel Jim’s excitement and anticipation, the sharp string of pleasure that shot down his spine and into his cock, focusing on where his hand trailed over him. He wrapped himself wholly around that string of pleasure and plucked it, watching it vibrate like a lute string. He felt the effects viscerally within himself, and saw how Jim’s mind grew brighter with the intensity of his pleasure.

Deftly, he dived deeper into Jim’s thoughts, along that tense line of pleasure, finding a memory and plucking it. The first he found was a young Jim, a young teenager at most, on his bed, desperately fisting his erection. He drew out the pleasure and sensation associated with the memory, but it was laced with furtiveness and inexperience, so he pushed further down into his psyche, his memories opening up to him.

Jim groaned and his nails raked against his back, and Spock felt his presence lean against his mind, clumsy and unsure how to move his consciousness. Spurred on, he reciprocated the touch, embracing Jim’s mind before slipping further into his memories. The thread ran through his most intense desires and fantasies, and it was the most dominant thought running through him, making it easy to follow. Jim, he learned, had more sexual experiences with females than males, but his sexual experiences with men were ones he enjoyed greatly. He learned that he enjoyed rough sex, and while he often took a dominant role in his sexual encounters, he had a streak of desire for submission and having control taken from him.

He was entirely inexperienced in sex, but in the art of the mind he had the upper hand. His movements physically were nervous and clumsy, but he had all of Jim’s most potent memories to stitch together into a collage of pleasurable experience. As far as he knew, it was an unorthodox way to use a mind meld, but judging by the noises Jim was making and the fact that he was painfully hard meant that it was succeeding somehow. 

He could feel, could sense that Jim was getting close, and instinctively, he pulled all the memories inwards, picking the most intense and visceral ones, the ones that Jim cherished the most, and pushed them to the forefront of his experience. Jim arched against him, and he felt the way the pleasure washed over him. Jim’s consciousness pushed hard against him, and he felt an impression of his voice.  _ Fuck _ . Jim whispered into his mind,  _ That’s cheating.  _ He could feel Jim attempt to thread through his memory, but he had no similar memories that he could draw on.  _ Definitely not fair! _ He received a lick of frustration, and returned a ripple of amusement towards Jim.

Jim seemed to find something, the thread of thought that linked to him, and to the physical sensation he’d felt when they had first met. This lead, logically to - oh - his heart leapt in his chest, his eyes darkening as Jim broke apart the memory of the blood fever of his youth, and his logical vulcan mind seemed to snap in two, exposing the instinctive animalistic core. Instinctively, he started selecting more aggressive memories, his senses digging into his submissive streak and manipulating it. Mentally, his grip on Jim’s mind tightened, as if fingers digging into soft flesh, and he pushed all thoughts and memories aside other than those of desire.

Jim’s manipulation of his memories was disjointed and clumsy, the result ending up a little fuzzy around the edges, but it was surprisingly competent for someone who had never experienced a mind meld before. He seemed to have realised that the best move was to siphon his own experiences and memories to Spock, and together he found that they weaved a tapestry that wasn’t quite real, a fantasy creation that worked well in sending him wild. 

His only focus was on Jim, his desire to claim him, and he ground down into Jim, thrusting against him as he fisted his cock. 

As they stayed like that, wrapped around each other, desperately rutting into one another, their minds becoming more and more tangled in a shared fantasy, the lines between them seemed to blur. They were separate, but together, two sides of the same coin. Soon, he was certain that he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them, even now it seemed like the sensations on Jim’s body were on his own, as if there was a hand around his own cock.

Jim could not have expected what he had unleashed, the pseudo blood fever that had stripped Spock of all logic and sense other than desire, and the instincts were growing heavier, more difficult to ignore. The urge to join them into one was becoming more than he could stand, and he let out a long, low growl. He found the string of sensory interpretation that represented Jim’s pleasure and grabbed it roughly, taking direct control of his responses. He could feel the way Jim’s heart race in excitement at this sudden taking of control, and the way his consciousness pressed desperately up into him. It was just them. Spock and Jim,  _ his  _  Jim. Them.  _ One. Together. _

He growled harder this time, and he was unable to stop himself from dipping his head into Jim’s neck. The desire to claim him, to make him scream was unstoppable. Jim would be his.

_ Yes! Yesyesyes! _ Screamed Jim through their connection, pulling his mind into him and holding him closely physically as well, his nails digging into Spock’s back. He could feel them both teetering at the edge of the abyss, ready to fall in, and he couldn’t fight the urge any more.  He bit down, hard, and at the same time, pushed all of the pleasure he could into Jim through their connection. He could feel, viscerally, the blood pumping in Jim’s neck, and wanted to break the skin, wanted to taste that blood in his mouth. 

Finally, they crashed together in an overwhelming orgasm, clinging on for dear life. Jim was gasping, and his jaw released from his neck to let out a long, low moan, thrusting against him. They were slick and sticky, but appeased, and he allowed his body to relax, leaning heavily against Jim’s consciousness and basking in the afterglow that passed between them.

Satisfied, he began to withdraw from Jim’s mind, moving back towards his own head. “No.” Jim spoke out loud. He noticed the slack that he’d put between them had been tightened, and he was being pulled back. He barely suppressed a note of surprise - while Jim had proven he was quite adept at controlling the meld, he would have still expected this to be out his skill range. 

_ Stay _ . Jim melted into his consciousness, wrapping around him in a warm, sweet way.  _ Can we sleep like this? _

He considered this for a moment,  _ Yes. _ He replied, caressing Jim’s mind.  _ But once asleep the link will fall. We won’t feel anything.  _

Jim was full of warmth, beautifully affectionate and utterly human.  _ That’s fine _ . He seemed to nuzzle against Spock, finding a spot in his mind, a groove where he seemed to fit perfectly.  _ I understand. Just stay for now. _

He found himself unable to deny Jim. His mind felt too good - he felt like he was home,  _ Of course, _ he replied.

He placed a gentle kiss to Jim’s forehead. The mix of sensation, the warm, gentle glow of their combined minds, was enough to lull him to sleep, and they fell down into a slumber, a tangle of limbs and minds.

**Author's Note:**

> storaya - development. (A very janky translation for a made up Vulcan puberty thing)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Any comments are appreciated, and, at the moment, I'm the only one looking over this fic, so if you see anything wrong let me know.


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